An End and a Beginning
by SerenityFalconNormandy
Summary: Written for the Dragon Age Reddit Weekly Writing Prompt: "I never stood a chance, did I?" & "You did, once, a long time ago." Gwyneth has chosen to let Alistair fight Loghain for the crown at the Landsmeet. (I'm still alive! Just needed some time to get everything beta'd)


Gwyneth chewed on her fingernail watching Alistair and Loghain duel. Every time the older warrior's blade found a gap in Alistair's defenses, her heart stopped for a dreadful moment. Fortunately for both of them, there weren't many there for the traitorous Teyrn to find. She could feel Anora's glare burning into her, until her gaze was ripped away when Loghain kicked Alistair in the chest. Gwyn bit her lip, hard enough she could taste blood, before blowing out a gasp of relief when her beloved rolled away from the sword swinging down at him. Elissa's grip on her hand tightened. They needed him to win. If he lost…

There was no 'if', he had to win.

Loghain was slowing down. He was older, more seasoned, but tired quickly compared to the younger man. Anora bit back a cry as Alistair's boot connected with the center of her father's chest, hand shooting forward like she could stop the flurry of blows that rained down upon him in quick succession. The entire Landsmeet gasped as Loghain's blade was ripped from his grasp. Alistair knocked it away. Gwyn and Elissa sidestepped the missile as it rattled to the flagstones of the Landsmeet chamber, well out of Loghain's reach, and outside the area where he was allowed to step if he wanted to maintain honorable combat.

Another swing, and Loghain was sent clattering across the floor much like his blade had just done, skidding to a stop on the opposite side of the circle of bodies, with no hope of continuing the fight.

"So, there's some of Maric in you after all," he sneered up at Alistair.

Elissa's fingers bit into hers. This was it. Alistair's eyes narrowed at the fallen warrior and murmuring broke out, Anora making a despairing, groaning noise. One of the Banns who had supported him, Lady Erimene, fainted. He had verbally confirmed that Alistair was Maric's son. Nevermind that he wore his brother's armor, and carried his father's blade. Nevermind that when he stood in the gap between the coronation portraits of both men, Alistair bore a familial resemblance that could not be denied. The man who had denied Alistair's heritage had, with a slip of the tongue, given his rival the legitimacy needed to claim the throne.

"Forget Maric, this is for Duncan," Alistair growled as he raised his blade.

"Wait." Elissa's voice cut through and the swing halted. The noblewoman was pale, eyes huge and filling with tears.

"What?"

"Not in front of Anora." Anora fell to her knees, the keening noise still rattling out of her.

Gwyn realized what Elissa was saying instantly. "Alistair, let him have a few last words with his daughter, then we'll remove her. He'll get what's coming to him, but we should be better than him and Howe."

For a moment, it looked like Alistair would go ahead anyway, fury pouring off of him, red hot and eager for vengeance. Then, his shoulders slumped and he nodded. "Five minutes, Loghain."

Guards swarmed the erstwhile Teyrn and the former Queen. Gwyn followed them to the back of the chamber, away from overeager ears. Behind the wall of armored bodies, Anora abandoned all pretense of royal hauteur and sobbed while she clung to Loghain. Resignation writ large on his face, he murmured his goodbyes into her hair. Giving the two their privacy, Gwyn kept her eyes on the wall, counting down the seconds in her head.

"It's time." Her voice was rough and harsh, even to her ears.

"No, no it is not, you traitorous bitch!" Anora rounded on Gwyn. Looking at the guards, she snapped, "As your queen, I order you to arrest these women! Now!"

Ser Cauthrian stepped forward, exhaustion drawing her face taut, "Your Grace, I'm sorry."

"No, you're not. Not yet." Anora pulled herself up straight, back and shoulders stiff as the guards escorted her away.

Gwyn stepped up to Loghain, "It's time, ser."

"Do you know what you've done, rabbit?" he snarled at her.

"Do you?" she shot back. "Normal soldiers can't fight an Archdemon, you _have _to have Wardens. I've read my history, I know what was done to your family during the Occupation." She paused, and decided to twist the knife. "Nice use of 'rabbit', by the way, like a run-of-the-mill Orlesian noble who thinks their way is the only way," Loghain's nostrils flared and his neck went red, "And what you've done to hundreds of families in Ferelden is a thousand times worse than anything the Orlesians could have done. Than anything they did during the occupation. You've become what you hated most, Loghain."

Loghain lifted his hand to strike her, and the guards piled onto him. From the floor under the guards pinning him down, he shouted, "You don't know anything, you've doomed Ferelden! How many will die because of you?"

"Because of me? You should know what you've condemned hundreds of Fereldan women to endure."

Leaning forward, Gwyn described, in the most graphic detail she could stomach, what was done to women to turn them into Broodmothers. To Loghain's credit, he lost a little color in his face. Breathing harsh in her lungs, she hissed into his ear, "And without the Wardens to stop the Blight, you would doom Anora to that fate. How does it feel to know your only grandchildren would have been darkspawn?"

His body shuddered. "I never stood a chance, did I?"

Gwyn straightened up, standing over him, "You did, once, a long time ago. Before you neglected to tell King Cailan about the darkspawn in the Tower of Ishal. Before you stole Jowan from the Templars and sent him to Redcliffe to poison the Arl. Before you allowed that Blighter Howe to massacre the Couslands."

Riordan materialized next to her, panting. "Wait. He could… pardon me, I am still weak… He could be inducted into the Wardens. He could make up for his crimes by fighting the Archdemon."

Cheeks flushed with anger, Gwyn rounded on Riordan, "If you want him in the Wardens, go ahead and Join him, but it will be him and you alone against the Archdemon. I will not ask the forces _I've _gathered to risk their lives under someone who I cannot guarantee won't turn and run the moment he's Joined. He has done _nothing_ to make me think he will honor a vow to the Wardens, Right of Conscription or no."

"But-"

"No, Riordan. I will not allow it. This is a Fereldan matter, not a Warden matter."

Turning away from the speechless Warden, she gestured, and the guards stood Loghain back onto his feet. "Take him to the dais, sers."

Alistair and Elissa were already on the dais, speaking quietly to each other while Arl Eamon tried to look like he wasn't attempting to eavesdrop. Loghain knelt facing the Landsmeet chamber, and Gwyn stood at the base of the steps.

"Loghain Mac Tir, in the name of His Majesty, King Alistair Theirin, you are charged as a traitor to the realm. Your crimes are as follows. The poisoning of Arl Eamon Guerrin of Redcliffe, as well as the unlawful imprisonment of the Templar escorting the apostate you used to carry out the poisoning. The unlawful imprisonment of the rightful Arl of Denerim, Vaughan Kendalls, while concealing his crimes against the populace of Denerim and not presenting him to the Landsmeet for judgement and to make his imprisonment lawful. The unlawful imprisonment and torture of Lord Oswyn of Dragon Peak. Conspiring with Arl Rendon Howe to massacre the residents of Highever, and illegally naming Howe a Teyrn. The illegal sale of Fereldan citizens into slavery. Abandoning His Majesty, King Cailan, on the field of battle after withholding vital intelligence. For your crimes, you have been sentenced to death. Your Majesty."

Gwyn turned and bowed to Alistair. Face hard, he stepped forward, lifting Maric's blade high. A single stroke was all it took. It was the end of the Teyrn, and a beginning for Alistair. As the blood splattered their armor, Gwyn prayed, to a god she wasn't sure she believed in.

_Maker, let this have been the right choice. _


End file.
